


Testing Incident

by Sionnan



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Gen, gordon is a human guinea pig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sionnan/pseuds/Sionnan
Summary: Barney Calhoun's job is to make sure everyone is more or less safe at Black Mesa. That doesn't always work out when the scientists stick their junior colleague into experimental test chambers. Of course, Barney has to deal with the aftermath.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 167





	Testing Incident

Barney winced as he stepped from the coolness of his relatively dark, air conditioned hallway and into the thin, brittle light of the New Mexico desert. He stood for a second with a hand cupped over his eyes to let them adjust. Same routine every morning. The motion allowed him to check his wrist watch-- he was going to be late for the tram, but like hell if he was going to run for it. Even in early May, the temperatures were in the 90s this early in the morning. Running was a quick ticket to a heart attack. He'd rather eat a pay dock for lateness than an emergency room fee, anyway.

As he set out across the sun-bleached sidewalk, Barney spotted a few of the other guards on morning shift, or just getting back from night shift. He waved at Sisk, who was approaching, head lowered with fatigue. Sisk brightened slightly at the sight of Barney. "Hey, Calhoun."

"Hey, I'll buy you your first beer of the night if I get to work early tomorrow," joked Barney, as he companionably slapped Sisk's shoulder when they passed. 

Sisk laughed, and then said over his shoulder, still walking backwards, "That'll be the day Calhoun. Oh hey, there's that tightass on the security checkpoint again, be prepared to spend five minutes on the tram while he makes sure your eye color matches your file."

Barney snorted, then sighed. Just another day at the good old BM-- some of the guards used the less savory aspects of that acronym to describe what conditions were like in a decommissioned nuclear base. Barney may or may not have ascribed to that belief during the time he helped stabilize the head of one of the junior research staff who hadn't been properly shielded during a lab test. He didn't know if the kid was fearless or just plain stupid, because he was back on the same task next week. Sometimes, the whole world just takes a dump on you, Barney remembered sympathizing as he patted the kid's back while he threw up into the trashcan after yet another life-limiting test. One of the few scientists who didn't mind hanging out with the guards. Barney liked him.

He turned the corner from the Area 8 residential dorms to the tram stop, and sighed in defeat as he watched as the 8:35 tram's doors sighed closed and scooted away down the rail line. "Sonuvabitch," he said aloud. Nearby, a crow squawked at him. Barney sized it up, and answered, "You're tellin' me." Well, he had another ten minutes before the next tram came by. May as well find a spot of shade to hide in.

Barney was through his second game of tic-tac-toe in the sand when he heard the tram line buzzing with the approach of another shuttle. He had already sweated through his first work shirt of the day. Barney reflected that depending who was his shift supervisor he may need to eat a demerit for his appearance. Barney was never exactly a slob, but it was reasons like that he had avoided the Army. Given that Black Mesa paid substantially more, he was willing to put up with a bit of Big Brother policing his appearance.

The tram was half full of a bunch of other guards; several had stripped off their work ties and overshirts, and leaned listlessly in the moulded plastic seats. It was 50/50 whether they were coming off work, or had simply had the foresight to take off their workblouse before they got to their stations. The door sighed open, and a couple guys got off, acknowledging Barney.

He sidled on, nodding to the guys there, and eased into one of the seats. It was air conditioned, but not particularly well, and Barney found himself loosening his shirt collar and sleeves while they rumbled along the topside, picking up other guards for the shift. Barney let his mind wander until he felt the tram beginning to descend along the rail, and as usual, his skin prickled as they sank from the heat of the sun into the cool darkness of the mesa cliffs.

He sat upright, noting as his transfer was next. "Later, fellas," he said to the shuttle of half-awake guys, and stepped out. The concrete platform was next to a little security pillbox, encased in glass and metal. As Sisk had said, Drummond was at post. Great. He could count on being even later.

"Calhoun," greeted Drummond, making it sound remarkably like he was noticing a bug. He theatrically glanced at the clock, while clicking through the computer system. "You're running behind, huh?"

Barney forced a smile. "It happens."

Drummond didn't respond, and continued clicking through the system. The silence stretched on. Somewhere down the tunnel, Barney could hear an approaching tram. Drummond's dark eyes slid up from the screen to fix on Barney. "That'll be you, Calhoun."

Barney squashed his usual impulse to give an informal salute, and instead gave the shift supervisor a nod. The doors on the tram sighed open, and Barney stepped in. His stomach gave its usual little jolt as the tram jerked to life, and hummed down the line. The tram was empty this time. Barney was sufficiently late so that any of the normal commuters were already gone. He watched as the life of the compound passed by him, passing the viewing windows of errant canteens, security points, loading bays. Barney had heard when he first joined that Black Mesa had a work staff that would have populated a small city. It had seemed unthinkable at the time, but years later he'd come to accept that as fact.

His own routine was Sector C. He couldn't really call it a beat, since he certainly did more than patrolling. Barney and the other guards served as a kind of easy resource for tasks that the scientists couldn't carry out themselves, or tasks that they were too impatient or cheap to wait for more qualified help. So there were more than a few instances where he and a few of the low level research associates lugged hand trucks full of heavy equipment up stairs, or he let researchers back into their labs. Things like that.

It wasn't more than five minutes that the tram dropped him off at the rear of the security checkpoint. The underground tunnel smelled of machine oil andconcrete weeping with underground moisture. It hummed with the soft sound of the miles of electrical cable. Barney stepped to the keypad and punched in the code. It beeped obligingly and let him in.

He stepped across the threshold and into the relatively sedate morning shift. Murtaugh glanced up from his morning paper and cup of coffee to pin Barney in place with a steely glare. It was vitriolic enough to make Barney pause midstep. Barney suppressed the urge to swallow, and instead offered in a perhaps too loud voice, "Morning, boss."

"Morning, my ass, Calhoun. Any later and you'd be in time for the afternoon shift."

Barney frowned at the exaggeration. So he was late by-- he glanced at the wall clock-- okay 30 minutes wasn't great, and looked back to Murtaugh, and shrugged. "Drummond was at the security checkpoint. Spent a goddamn dog's age approving me." He walked over the standard box of donut holes and fished out a few, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of its morning carb and sugar fix.

"So next time get to the checkpoint before Drummond can make you any later." Murtaugh had reached over to push the flaps of the donut box closed. "You're up, Calhoun, we got a 10-8 over in Anomalous Materials." He pointed one gnarled finger at one of the array of screens.

Barney winced as he leaned forward, recognizing the break room. There was a solitary figure sitting there, slumped in the chair. He looked over to Murtaugh, and asked, "What did the report say?"

Murtaugh looked at the printout, and read, "Didn't stay long, looked to be someone unconscious in the break room."

Barney slapped a hand to his forehead. "Christ," he muttered, and passed through the security room to get his kit from the lockers. Once he'd pulled on his vest and service pistol, he snatched one of the med kits from the wall on his way out the door. He walked quickly through the adjoining corridors, not wanting to find a dead rather than unconscious body. God only knows the security detail would get the worst of the blow back for that.

Barney listened to the thud of his boots as he made his way down the corridor toward the break room. The scientist Barney liked, Freeman, was sitting in almost a boxer's sprawl in one of the moulded plastic chairs at the entrance. His eyes were glassy with fatigue, and he unaccountably wore sweatpants a ratty t-shirt that said MIT. It was startling to see one of the scientists out of uniform, and he stopped short to assess the kid. Something clicked in Barney's brain. "You the 10-08, Gordon?"

The scientist glanced up, eyes unfocused. "Huh?"

"Geez." Barney bent to get level with Gordon's gaze. "You're all kinds of out of it. What happened?"

Gordon smiled, while his eyes floated uncertainly away from Barney's face and into the mid distance. "Well, y'know."

Gordon wasn't exactly verbose at the best of times, but this barely counted as a response. Barney shook his head. "You gotta stop letting those guys stick you in that chamber without proper shielding, man," he said, hearing himself sounding truly aggrieved, perhaps more than he had intended. Barney knelt, put down the first aid kit and popped it open. While it had the normal gauze, aspirin, and disinfectant, it also had a number of field tests to determine poisons, radiation, and other things Barney hadn't been trained on.

"How long you been at this, Gordon?" he asked, as he picked a radiation test and a few aspirin out of the box.

"Seventeen? Hours? I think?" Gordon's voice was almost as wobbly as his gaze. Had he been conked on the head? He didn't look like he was about to cry, but then Barney didn't really know him all that well. Though he supposed you did sort of get to know a person when you comforted them while they puked.

Barney sighed as he peeled apart the plastic layers from the small syringe and vial of chemicals. "Christ. Where's your supervisor for this shift?"

"Dr. Magnusson?" Gordon sounded deeply confused. "Why would he be here?" He treated Barney to a look equally as confused, as though Barney had proposed that in fact gravity now worked backwards.

Barney shoved down the irritation he felt on Gordon's behalf, not wanting Gordon to feel like he was being short with him. " 'Cuz a supervisor is supposed to oversee any testing protocol that's over a level 2, and buddy--" he patted Gordon's knee "--you're well past a level 2."

Gordon's head swiveled almost comically into a thinking pose, chin cocked to the side while his ear canted toward his shoulder. He didn't even react as Barney jabbed the small needle into Gordon's forearm to draw a tiny amount of blood. "Level 2? But I have a level 3 clearance, I should be fine for the procedure..." he trailed off, clearly struggling to make sense of the situation.

Barney sighed again, this time softer, as he jammed the small needle into the top of the vial, and depressed the syringe. He pulled the little color swatch from the kit to compare to the vial as he said, "Buddy, you are all kinds of messed up. Did you get hit in the head again?"

Gordon had drifted into some kind of third dimension. He only focused on Barney when the guard snapped his fingers in front of the scientist's face. "Yello. Earth to Freeman," he said shortly, peering at Gordon's face. The scientist had grown a few shades paler, the veins around his eyes all too visible in the pallor of his skin.

"Gimme a sec," Barney said, and stood. "What day's today, Gordon?" he asked, while he went to the vending machine and abused it until it begrudgingly spat out a can.

"Wednesday?" Gordon's answer was phrased in question form. It wasn't even the right answer. It was Tuesday, but he might let that slide since Gordon apparently had been working for 17 hours straight.

"Not even close," Barney said, and almost laughed at the sad little frown Gordon gave. "What building are you in?"

"Lab C." Well at least he was right on that one.

Barney popped open the soda and handed it to Gordon. "Drink that, you look like you haven't eaten in days." Gordon docilely took the can and took a sip. "Does your head hurt?" Barney asked, squinting at Gordon's almost expressionless face. It was almost creepy. Gordon was normally very expressive, letting his face say what he wouldn’t in words.

Gordon shrugged tiredly. "Sorta."

"Like a normal headache, or like you got hit in the head?"

Gordon sipped at the soda again, his eyes squinted in thought. "Both?"

Barney stepped closer and combed a hand through Gordon's short red hair. He didn't feel any spongy spots or lumps, so it didn't seem he had any overt head trauma. But that didn't preclude cosmic death rays from rattling his brain case.

Barney could hear the squeaking of dress shoes on the tile outside, meaning a scientist was coming, and it sounded like he was in a bit of a hustle. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the balding, middle-aged scientist who Barney saw with Gordon frequently. "Gordon!" He exclaimed, looking distressed. "My god, I've been looking everywhere for you."

Barney didn't move from his spot, and gave the other scientist a wry look. "I got called out here by SCO Murtaugh for an infirmary case. You guys didn't even know where he'd gone?"

The older scientist shook his head. "I'm afraid not." His voice was chagrined. "I only heard of the situation when I got into work." He copied Barney's earlier gesture and leaned down to look Gordon in the face. "Gordon?"

Gordon smiled, the expression a little more cognizant than the one Barney got earlier. "Hi, Dr. Kleiner," he said softly, his tone a little hollow, like his voice was coming out of a deep cave.

Kleiner shook his head. "I wish they would stop using Research Associates like they're part of the experiment, or expendable fodder," he protested to no one in particular.

"I'll say," Barney agreed. "This has gotta be the third time I've found him like this, though never this bad." He reached forward and took Gordon's wrist to check his pulse. It seemed too slow, like he was recovering from a shock.

"You know," mumbled Gordon, "I think I'll be alright if I just have some food." His other hand had come up to scrub at his face, as though to peel off the layers of stupor.

"Oh dear," sighed Kleiner, but he trundled over to the vending machine to feed in change. "Gordon, you can't just agree to unscheduled equipment tests--" He broke off, punching at the numbers and bending to retrieve the bag of potato chips. "What were you thinking?"

Gordon blinked at his mentor almost cowishly, so Barney took the bag, opened it, and put it back into Gordon's hands. The younger scientist fetched a sigh that seemed like he was trying to catch his breath, and looked into the fragrant bag of snacks. "They just needed someone in the chamber to test a modified rate for the secondary rotors."

It was the longest sentence Gordon had spoken since Barney had gotten there. He felt a wave of relief overtake him. He checked back to the field radiation test, noted that Gordon didn't seem to be swimming in gammas. He shook his head, feeling a surge of Kleiner's irritation at Gordon's recklessness. Maybe naivete? Barney shook his head helplessly at the other man. "Buddy. You can't just agree to every unsanctioned test."

Gordon had been gazing into the chip bag while Barney spoke, and after a second he lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead. "I didn't know. I thought they'd cleared it." Barney wiggled the chip bag, like he was trying to entice a pet to eat out of its bowl. Gordon looked down into the bag, and fished out a chip that he held in his hand. 

Barney heard Kleiner sigh above him. “Barney, perhaps it’s better if you escorted Gordon to the transit system. Gordon, I’m going to give you the rest of the day off.”

Gordon looked up, face uncharacteristically distressed. Barney felt his stomach jolt at the almost puppyish look of sadness, knowing instinctively Gordon thought he fucked up. The younger scientist’s voice was soft when he said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Kleiner. I am alright to work.” The slightly glazed look in his eyes made Barney doubt this though. He bent slightly, and wrapped a hand around Gordon’s upper arm. 

“C’mon, doc, let’s getcha up,” he said companionably. Gordon stood without complaint, still looking at Kleiner almost pleadingly. 

Kleiner stepped forward and patted Gordon on the shoulder, a small, comforting smile on his face, knowing Gordon wouldn’t leave if he thought he was in trouble. “Not to worry, Gordon. It’s imperative you get some rest. Black Mesa isn’t like graduate school, where you’re expected to work days at a stretch. And besides, I want you in top shape.”

Barney felt his face crinkle at Kleiner’s little speech, but he watched as Gordon’s expression eased. Well, he’d take that. Barney pulled Gordon slightly toward the door. “C’mon, Gordon. We’ll get you back to your dorm.”

Gordon let himself get pulled, his upper body leaning to accommodate the guard’s movement while he struggled to get his legs to follow. Somewhat uncoordinated, they stumbled together through the hallways. Gordon didn’t even seem to realize when they passed other people, but Barney caught their curious glances or stares. A few times he locked eyes with a rubbernecker to make them mind their own business.

By the time they got to the main security lock, Gordon’s gait was almost drunk, and Barney had taken most of the scientist’s weight against him. He could see small beads of perspiration gathering around Gordon’s hairline. So, this wasn’t great. There was no way Gordon was going to make it through the tram trip without passing out or throwing up. 

Barney made a decision. He propped Gordon against one of the walls in the lobby next to the security door while he fished out his access badge and waved at the panel. He could see Gordon’s breathing was just a tad more noticeable than when they had started. Barney grimaced as the door beeped obligingly, and he collected his somewhat wilted friend and bustled them both through the door. 

When the door hissed open, Barney could see Murtaugh glance over from the security screens to fix Barney with a look that seemed to question the situation and Barney’s competence to handle it. As Barney hauled Gordon’s lean body into the security room, he pointed at one of the more substantial first aid kits hanging on the wall. “Grab me the ammonia out of that, wouldja?”

Murtaugh assessed Gordon’s deepening pallor and the fact Barney seemed to be serving as a human crutch, and crossed the small room to crack open the medkit and procure the ammonia ampoule. He cracked it between two large fingers, and pressed it underneath Gordon’s nose. 

It perhaps spoke to the level of stupor Gordon was in, that he didn’t react to the noxious substance right away. His head hung for a second before he flinched and jerked back automatically, sputtering and coughing against the smell. Murtaugh shook his head at Barney, and asked flatly, “Was this the 10-08 in the lounge?”

Barney’s lips thinned, mirroring Murtaugh’s unimpressed expression. “Yep.” The guards of Black Mesa remarked on a fairly constant basis the somewhat detached level the scientists operated from reality, apparently up to and including a lack of concern for a member of their junior staff. This was just one of many examples.

Gordon’s eyes were watering, and he was trying to jam his fingers under his glasses to swipe off the moisture. He seemed slightly more alert, so the ammonia did it’s job in getting the scientist’s peripheral nervous system responding again. Barney gently cupped a hand around the back of Gordon’s neck, and tilted his head to see Gordon’s eyes. “We gotta get you to the rail, Gordon. Do you think you can make it?”

Gordon nodded to the question, still trying to get the smell out of his nose, and Barney was vaguely encouraged by the fairly quick time of his response. He guided Gordon away from the wall. Barney was relieved that he could feel the scientist was taking more of his own weight as they walked. Murtaugh let them out to the catwalk through the access door, fastening one hand on Gordon’s opposite elbow to help him get past the high threshold. 

Barney heard Murtaugh raise his voice across the expanse of catwalk to the on-duty sentry, “Baines, give them a hand to the shuttle.” Baines, the guy who ran the blue shift most days, looked up from his magazine, and stood to approach them.

“What happened here?” he asked, smoker’s voice befuddled as he took Gordon’s other arm. 

Barney let out his own sigh of resignation. “Hell if I know. He’s gotta get back to the Level 3 dorms, though.” 

Baines’ eyes combed over Gordon, who was still rubbing his nose, and then up the tram line. Finally, he looked at Barney and said, “What I’ll do is tell the checkpoint up the line to send a shuttle here priority. Shouldn’t take more than a couple minutes.” There was a beat as he wrinkled his brow at Gordon. “Lemme grab a chair,” Baines finished, and he walked back over to his post. 

“Thanks, Baines,” Barney sent after him, and looked at his charge. Gordon’s eyes were squeezed shut, and Barney could see Gordon breathing slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. Barney stifled a sympathetic smile. “How ya holding up, Gordon?” he asked, jostling the junior scientist.

Gordon swallowed heavily and nodded, still not opening his eyes. 

Barney’s brows pricked up with concern. “You tell me if you feel like you’re gonna--” Gordon quickly held up a staying hand, nodding. “I’m good,” he said faintly, voice muzzy. 

Baines was back with the plastic chair he had by the massive vault door, settling it awkwardly on the catwalk. Barney shifted Gordon’s weight, and the scientist folded himself into the chair. He propped his elbows against his knees, letting his head sink into his hands as though it weighed a hundred pounds. 

Baines was true to his word-- the tram came rumbling down the track before Barney’s worry about Gordon could compound. Barney bent and looped an arm around Gordon’s back, and was slightly surprised as Gordon reciprocated, who apparently was becoming alert enough to know the state of his impairment. As Barney stood, he heard Gordon groan slightly, and just as he was about to pause and ask if the other guy was alright, Gordon lifted himself to his full height. His green eyes cut across to Barney, and the guard wasn’t mistaken, there was a gleam of regret in the scientist’s eyes, but a quirk of humor around his mouth. 

“Barney,” Gordon sighed as he shifted his weight to take a step, prompting Barney to step further into his side to make sure they wouldn’t go toppling off the side of the catwalk. “Next time you see me scheduled to go into any test chamber here in Mesa, remind me I spent too long getting a PhD to agree to an unintentional suicide.”

Barney felt a laugh surprised out of him, like a bird startled from a window. It was louder than necessary from relief, but also partly because Gordon was cognizant enough to realize how stupid the entire debacle must have been. “Don’t have to ask me, Gordon, I already had it penciled in my facility task list,” he responded, navigating the other man through the tram doors and onto one of the seats. “1. Clock in. 2. Check the levels on the first aid stations. 3. Remind Gordon Freeman not to be a corporate tool.”

It was Gordon’s turn to laugh, but it was short and sounded tired and almost dispirited. Barney sat next to him, and patted his leg. “It’s alright, doc. Sometimes we all get goat-roped into something stupid.” To be honest, he felt bad for Gordon. He was so willing to believe everyone had generally good intentions.

Gordon’s narrow features were pinched in the anemic light of the tram. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble for leaving your post?”

That was a possibility, but the thought of leaving Gordon alone on the tram, to then suffer any number of delayed adverse effects from the test seems a lot more unpalatable than getting a write up for being away from his rounds. A running flicker of visions swamped Barney’s brain-- Gordon clutching his arm as a heart attack hit, his face drooping as a stroke overtook him. Barney had seen both of these and more while on the job, and several had been work induced. He looked over at Gordon and shook his head. “Nah,” he answered simply. “I’m just glad I could be in the right place at the right time.”

Gordon nodded, face thoughtful. His head tilted back, coming into contact with the window. A brilliant light flooded into the tram as they emerged into the bright daylight of another mid-morning desert. Gordon’s eyes closed against the light and stayed shut. Barney watched a hitched sigh ripple through him.

They sat in silence for a little while, before Gordon started peppering him with murmured questions about the general drama around the Sector C labs. Barney had to laugh, but this was how Gordon could hang with the guards. More than once, Gordon had swung by an impromptu lunch session, a couple of guards sitting on packing crates with tacos or pizza from the canteen, and listened with interest to the guards’ travails. Barney suspected Gordon was fairly isolated at Black Mesa; his co-workers were too old and disinterested to be Gordon’s peers, so the scientist sought out companionship in a more similar age cohort. 

Barney was nearly finished with an anecdote about overhearing a heated argument about the latest addition to the HEV hazard course (a twenty foot drop? What was this, Aperture Science?), when the tram jolted to a stop, the automated voice announcing, “Level 3 dormitories.”

The two men grappled into a standing position, and Barney smacked the open button to give them extra time to get out. The Level 3 dorms were somehow even more depressing than the Area 8 topside dorms. Level 3 was bathed in fluorescent lights, painting the concrete corridors with an anemic glow. “Jesus,” Barney remarked as he helped Gordon limp down the corridors. “How are you not all clinically depressed? When do you get daylight?”

Gordon chuckled as he steered them through a large lobby, empty save for a huge CRT television parked into a corner, two small sofas opposite, and a couple of vending machines against the far wall. “Aside from this morning, I don’t think I’ve seen natural light in a week,” the scientist said lightly. The admission was meant as a joke, but Barney just felt sad. He re-established his grip around Gordon’s skinny ribs, and fleetingly wondered if maybe living in this place really did affect Gordon more than he realized. 

They had come across one of the two-person rooms, and Gordon quirked his hip at the scan pad, the RFID chip unlocking the door through his slacks. “Got magic pants, Gordon?” Barney joked as he opened the door and pushed it in. The interior of the room was darker than the rest of the dorms, heavy frosted glass panels in the ceiling blocking the harsh lights. It still felt weirdly institutional. Barney wouldn’t doubt if these were originally barracks for the junior enlisted personnel when this place was a military complex. 

There didn’t seem to be a single chair in the place, so Barney helped Gordon to the bed on the left, and eased him down. Gordon crumpled back into the head-holding posture he had when they were still in Sector C, so Barney went to the en-suite bathroom to look through the first aid kit attached to the wall and grabbed some more aspirin and some pepto-bismol.

As he returned, Gordon looked blearily up at him. “Did you guys stick ammonia up my nose?” The scientist’s tone was slightly reproachful, and Barney huffed a laugh as he palmed the pills into one of Gordon’s loose hands. “So you remember that,” Barney returned, as he glanced around for a glass and settled for a can of open soda on the single nightstand. “Hope this is yours, buddy,” he said as he handed it to Gordon.

Gordon shrugged as he took it, and peered at the pills in his hand. “Where did you even get these,” he asked before he tipped them into his mouth and followed it with a swig from the can. From the grimace, Barney figured it was probably flat and warm at that point.

“First aid kit in the can.” Barney crouched next to Gordon and rested two fingers on the scientist’s knobby wrist to check his pulse. Barney wasn’t exactly a medic, but he’d been trained enough to know whether or not he needed to get a person to a doctor. Gordon’s pulse was a little fast, which wasn’t surprising. Barney pulled out his flashlight, comically too large for the task, and Gordon laughed knowing what was going to happen. 

“You interrogating me, Barney?” he asked as Barney clicked on the light and shined the edge of the beam into one of Gordon’s eyes. His pupil constricted normally, and he squinted and looked away. Barney smiled, and said, “Yeah Gordon, who’re your contacts,” in a companionable tone. He flicked the light to the other side and was dismayed to see Gordon’s pupil didn’t contract all the way. “Dammit,” he muttered, and sat back on his heels.

Gordon treated him to a sympathetic, thin lipped half smile. “Concussion, huh?”

“Yep,” Barney answered shortly. 

Gordon’s eyes slipped closed. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble,” he breathed.

It was such an unexpected and vulnerable statement that Barney felt a lance of pity go through him. He leaned forward again and patted Gordon’s knee. “Hey, man. Buck up. You’re not gonna be in trouble, your bosses are.”

“Yeah,” Gordon agreed, now staring at the carpet forlornly. “And then they’re gonna stick me on data entry for a few weeks.” There was a beat of silence before Gordon continued. “I hate data entry.”

Barney thought for a second. It wasn’t unusual for guards to cover for each other when they did something stupid on the job in the name of convenience, or occasionally bravery. Sprained limbs, contusions, bruises and more were agreed upon not to report when you got them, for example, while balancing on the edge of a counter trying to swat a bat off the ceiling with a broom. Or while abusing the drink machine to spit out a can when it wasn’t working. These and more had either company enforced protocols, or just common sense approaches, which usually took more time and effort. 

“Tell ya what, Gordon,” Barney said. “I’ve got a mess of vacation days I need to use up before the end of the year. I’m gonna call in, and I’ll hang out with you and make sure you’re not gonna drop dead of a hemorrhage, and you’re gonna spring for tacos. But--” Barney stabbed two fingers at Gordon and narrowed his eyes at the man “--if at any point you start feeling worse, you absolutely have to let me know, because I’d be pissed at you if you died because I didn’t take you to a doctor right away. Alright?”

The relief on Gordon’s face was tangible, and a genuine smile had crept around the corners of his mouth. “Alright.”

Barney nodded briskly. “Good.” He glanced at his watch. The whole incident til now had eaten up a couple hours. Barney had missed breakfast, and usually took an early lunch, and with Gordon not having even eaten the bag of chips, Barney figured they could both use some food. “Is there a phone around here?”

Gordon had flopped back onto the bed, legs still dangling over the side. One arm lifted to point out the door. “The lounge. You can only make internal calls.”

“Works for me. I gotta call my shift supervisor.” Barney stood. “Gimme a twenty, I’m gonna grab us tacos.” Gordon roused enough to fish around in his pocket to pull out his wallet and toss it to Barney. “Knock yourself out,” murmured the scientist, draping an arm over his face.

Barney shook his head at Gordon’s trust, but lifted the lone twenty out of his wallet among a sea of singles, and put the wallet on the side table. “Don’t die, Gordon,” he commanded as he fiddled with the lock to keep it from locking behind him, and slipped out the door. 

Murtaugh answered the phone on the third ring. Barney informed him of most of the situation, leaving out the specifics of Gordon’s injuries, but said he was taking a day to look after him. Surprisingly, Murtaugh didn’t give him too much shit for it, even saying, “Well, at least it’s a real reason and not a hangover,” before hanging up.

“Dick,” Barney commented as he hung up the plastic handset in the cradle. The relative silence of the dorm pressed on him, the only sound the hum of the lights. It was honestly a bit creepy, and Barney tried not to walk too quickly to the doors. He followed the smell of food to a tiny cafeteria down a nearby corridor, and ordered a bunch of food from a slightly perplexed looking server. It was no wonder. Most of the scientists had regular 8-5 hours, and the presence of a guard in the scientists’ dorms was probably weird.

By the time he got back to the room with the fragrant bags of food, he found Gordon asleep, legs still hanging off the bed. It probably would be more refreshing to be flat on the bed, but Barney didn’t want to risk waking him by moving his legs. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, he was in a decently deep sleep. Barney lifted the book from the bedside table, pleased to find it was the copy of a book of conspiracies he had given Gordon a couple months ago, and deposited the bags. He sat on the other bed, flicking open the book to where he had left off in his own copy, noting with a smile that Gordon had actually been annotating the text. It was fascinating to see how the man’s mind worked. 

What the heck. He’d give Gordon some time to sleep, and then wake him up to make sure he wouldn’t drift off into a coma, and eat. Hell, maybe he could drag Gordon out for a walk so he saw some actual daylight. Barney turned another page and settled back against the wall, angled so he could see Gordon over the top of his book. Short of Gordon dying tragically, it might turn into a pretty decent day.


End file.
